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1) Pikadon: On Holding God's Deposit
When I read the following comments on the parsha of pikadon by the Rav zt”l, reproduced in the Masores HaRav Chumash, I gasped. I’m leaving them here for you in their entirety. It’s required reading, and should be helpful material for a derasha:
כִּי-יִתֵּן אִישׁ אֶל-רֵעֵהוּ כֶּסֶף אוֹ-כֵלִים לִשְׁמֹר – If a man gives his neighbor money or articles for safekeeping. Judaism asserts that man is the property of God; as we recite in Selichos, the soul is yours and the body is yours. All of man's talents, endowments and qualities—his very personality—are owned by God. Man's activities must therefore be in conformity with the will of God. Man's body and soul are governed by the general rule articulated with respect to deposits of personal property with another for safekeeping. All of one's activities must therefore conform with the directives of the depositor.
Accordingly, on Yom Kippur, man finds himself in a situation analogous to that described in the next verse: וְנִקְרַב בַּעַל-הַבַּיִת אֶל-הָאֱלֹהִים אִם-לֹא שָׁלַח יָדוֹ בִּמְלֶאכֶת רֵעֵהוּ—man must convince God that he has not misappropriated the deposit. In the concluding Ne'ilah prayer of Yom Kippur we use the phrase לְמַעַן נֶחְדַּל מֵעֹשֶׁק יָדֵינוּ—Yom Kippur was bestowed upon us so that we cease from misappropriating our very selves. Appropriately, any sin committed by man constitutes larceny—theft from God. (Noraos Harav, Vol. 16, pp. 82-84)
Rabbi Meir and his wife Beruriah were proud parents of beautiful twin boys who died of an extended illness over one Sabbath. Throughout the Sabbath, Beruriah did not inform Rabbi Meir of the tragedy so as not to mar his Sabbath joy. However, when the day waned, it was Beruriah's task to convey the terrible news to her husband. After Havdalah, Beruriah related the following parable to Rabbi Meir in the form of a halachic question: Some time ago, a certain man came and left two diamonds in my trust (pikadon); now he has called for them. Shall I return them to him or not? Only after Rabbi Meir replied in the affirmative did Beruriah reveal to him the awful news (Midrash Mishlei, Parashah 31).
As moving as this story is, the halachic question posed by Beruriah seems trivial. Was there any doubt that the owner of the diamonds had the right to take them back? The answer is so obvious that her question seems superfluous. Why would Beruriah ask her husband for a ruling in such a simple case of Jewish law?
One should interpret this parable by interpolating some additional detail into her analogy:
A mysterious stranger, his face hidden behind a dark cloak, knocks at Beruriah's door. As she opens the door, the stranger silently thrusts a small box into her hands and vanishes into the night. The puzzled Beruriah opens the box and is startled to find two beautiful diamonds. She wonders: Did the stranger intend to place the diamonds in her trust for safekeeping, or perhaps they were an outright gift? Beruriah resolves to wait a few weeks to see if the stranger returns to claim his package. She meticulously takes care of the diamonds in accordance with all the applicable laws of pikadon as she waits for the stranger to return.
Weeks, months, years pass, and the stranger has not reappeared. Beruriah thinks to herself that maybe the stranger is no longer alive, or perhaps he indeed meant to give her the diamonds as an outright gift.
On a fateful Shabbos years later, Beruriah is startled to again hear a knock on the door. Hurriedly donning her robe, Beruriah answers the door. The mysterious stranger with the hidden face is back. He grabs the diamonds from her hands and once again he quickly and silently disappears.
This is the story Beruriah told Rabbi Meir. Unlike a normal pikadon, where an item is held in safekeeping for a specific period of time as prescribed by the owner, the period of safekeeping for God's pikadon is open-ended. He is the hidden stranger who thrusts upon man all sorts of items of value: money, honor, health, wisdom, children. His face is obscured and He says nothing. We often make Beruriah's mistake; we begin to think of God's pikadon as a gift. Only later, and often under tragic circumstances, are we forced to confront the fact that God does not give us these items outright; they are only entrusted to us for safekeeping. If we guard them properly, God may allow us to keep them longer. If, on the other hand, we do not acknowledge God as the owner of the pikadon, He may come and claim them sooner. (Derashot Harav, pp. 16-18)
2) Don't Steal Your Own Identity
Why does an eved ivri who chooses to remain enslaved have his ear pierced? Rashi quotes a pasuk that the Gemara associates specifically with kidnapping — not with the idea of slavery itself. What’s the connection?
R' Shimon Schwab (Mayan Beis Hashoeivah) explains that kidnapping is not merely the brutal act of physical captivity, but the theft of a person's identity. A kidnapper prevents his victim from realizing their potential, from pursuing their dreams, from becoming who they were meant to be. For this reason, it belongs in the Aseres HaDibros.
Now, the eved who refuses his freedom at the conclusion of seven years is guilty of the same crime — except it’s against himself. He came to a defining crossroads where circumstance lifted and genuine free choice emerged. And he chose servitude. His ear is pierced because that ear heard Har Sinai — heard the call to live as a free being created b'tzelem Elokim, to be something with his life — and ignored it.
We are all enslaved to something — our schedules, our screens, our obligations. Most of the time we have little choice. But occasionally, a genuine moment of freedom presents itself: a Shabbos with the family, an opportunity for avodas Hashem, a chance to be present for those we love. How we respond to that moment of clarity reveals our true selves — and determines whether our "unavoidable" distractions are genuine constraints, or simply personal indulgences at the expense of others.
3) See Last Year’s Chomer Here.
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